


After

by hunenka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Minor Crowley/Dean Winchester, Season/Series 12, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-24 07:17:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10736823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hunenka/pseuds/hunenka
Summary: (Set in speculative future season 12.) Somehow, Lucifer’s escaped. It’s time for Crowley to come clean about where Lucifer’s been in the past months. Dean doesn't take the news well.





	After

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dreamsofspike](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofspike/gifts).



“You son of a bitch!” Dean slams Crowley into the wall of the abandoned warehouse, hard. “You lied to us!”

Crowley shrugs as best he can with Dean’s hands holding him immobile. “Demon,” he says with a smile that feels flat.

“Yeah, I kinda remember. Never took you for an idiot, though.” Dean lets go of him and steps back, hands up, like he’s disappointed. “We had maybe the only opportunity to get rid of him, and you decided to keep him topside instead? How could you be so _dumb_?”

“He’s Lucifer,” Crowley says.

“Exactly.”

“He’s _Lucifer_ ,” he repeats, and waits for Dean to get it.

When Dean does, he snorts. “So what, this is about revenge? He made you say uncle and you wanted to get even, is that it?”

“He took my kingdom from me!” Crowley grits out, hands curled into fists in anger. Toothless anger.

“Well, it’s not like you were that into your kingdom lately.”

“It was mine! Mine to be bored with if I so pleased.”

Dean just looks at him like _oh, please_.

Crowley deflates, looks away. Leans back against the wall for support because he needs it for what he’s about to admit. “He… He tortured me. Humiliated me.” Then lower, “Destroyed me.” A pause, and he raises his eyes to meet Dean’s. “I thought you of all people might understand how I’d like to pay him back in kind.”

Now it’s Dean’s turn to look away. He clenches his jaw, giving Crowley a nice view of his profile, and then he nods. “Yeah, I understand,” he says, turning back. “I understand that no matter what you do to him, or to anyone – you’ll never get back what he took from you, not entirely. You’ll never be who you were before.”

“All the more reason to make him pay.”

“Not like this." It's said with adamance, like it truly matters to Dean for some reason. "Not by accepting his game and playing by his rules.”

“What am I supposed to do, then? Settle down in the countryside and keep pet bunnies?”

“What? No. Well, bunnies _are_ adorable,” a quick, soft smile flickers over Dean’s face, and Crowley’s left to wonder, not for the first time, how this can be the man who survived Hell and Purgatory, who took more hits than seems possible and still got back on his feet every single time. It occurs to him that the bunnies might actually have something to do with it.

“So what am I supposed to do?” He asks, surprised that he genuinely wants to hear the answer.

Dean seems just as surprised, and he takes time to think before he speaks. “You don’t let what he’s done to you define you, that’s what. You don’t let it be all there is to you. You’re more than that.”

“Oh really? I have a kingdom in ruin, a son who preferred death over life here, and a mother who thrives on my pain. Tell me, what else do I have?”

In two swift strides, Dean is standing right in front of Crowley. He looks him straight in the eyes and puts a hand on Crowley’s shoulder, and he keeps it there for a long, long time, warm and solid. Grounding. Firmer than the wall behind Crowley’s back, somehow.

Crowley waits, and barely breathes.

Neither of them moves.

Eventually, Dean removes his hand and takes a step back. He’s still very close when he says, “Well, you’ve got a great fashion sense and a first-rate tailor.”

Crowley snorts. “As if you would know, you flannel-worshipping lumberjack.”

Dean smiles, just a little, but it shows in the deep lines around his eyes. “Hey, I look good in flannel."

"That's just what I tell you to get the flannel off."

"Yeah, sure," Dean says, and gives Crowley a quick pat on the chest. "Come on, let’s go get a drink.”

“Now that’s an idea I could get behind.”

They walk out of the warehouse side by side.

“Hey,” says Dean when they’re settled in the Impala, “How do you feel about stealing some 'incredibly rare, unspeakably expensive barrel proof Scotch' from the British Douchebags of Letters?”

Crowley likes the idea, but he can’t help making a face. “What was that atrocious accent?”

“Right? Yours is way cooler.”

“Damn right it is,” Crowley agrees. “Very well, let’s go. We’ve got some Scotch to steal.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a very vague response to this prompt: _Dean/Crowley - anything where Crowley is in the submissive or being comforted role, demon!Dean is fine, Dean can be totally mean to Crowley part of the time but in the end it should be clear that he's protective of Crowley and considers Crowley his :P I really like the idea of Dean comforting/taking care of Crowley in the wake of his abuse at Lucifer's hands._


End file.
